


Matchmaking is Knotty Business

by nocturnias



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/pseuds/nocturnias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and Molly find themselves tied up at 221B after John and Mary's wedding. Who has done this, and why?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaking is Knotty Business

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KendraPendragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, dear Kendra Pendragon! This is for you!

It was fair to say that Sherlock Holmes could explain almost anything, given evidence and time.

Waking up (regaining consciousness would be a better description) in his bed tied to Molly Hooper was, however, not one of those things.

As his head cleared and his vision sharpened, he took note of the facts.

They were still dressed in their attire from John and Mary’s wedding, except their jackets, shoes and socks (stockings in Molly’s case) had been removed. His hands were bound around Molly’s waist; hers were tied behind his neck. But not just slipped over his neck; no. Whoever had done this had looped the rope (silk, triple weave) under his arms on each side along with winding it around her hands, effectively keeping them in place behind his neck. There would be no simple escape by her lifting off her hands and sliding through his arms.

His gaze then swept down to their lower limbs. Their feet had been tied together, with ropes running down each side of the bed frame, obviously securing them to it. They would not even be able to stand up and hop away to fetch a knife.  He tried loosening the rope, but it held fast and firm. Whoever had tied them was an expert. It would take hours for him to work free.

He frowned. They hadn’t been gagged, injured, robbed or threatened. Why would someone have done this? And equally important, who would have?

Molly murmured in her sleep and pressed against him. He struggled to ignore the feeling of her warm softness fitted so snugly against him, but it was going to be a losing battle. He decided it was time to try and wake her up.

“Molly.”

She sighed and snuggled even closer. Sherlock swallowed hard as he felt his blood begin to redistribute itself to other parts of his anatomy.  This was very not good. Even though Molly had broken up with her _boyfriend_ (what was his name? Oh, yes; Tom) a few days before the wedding, it wouldn’t do for her to see him…like this.

No, waking her up could wait.

Having decided that, he began looking around for clues.

Molly’s purse was not in sight, nor were either of their mobiles. Their shoes were near his bedroom door. They’d been arranged neatly, not simply tossed into the room. Whoever had done this was being respectful, which implied it was someone one or both of them knew.

He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Obviously their drinks had been spiked, but he couldn’t tell with what. The wine had masked it well. The more he discovered, the less he understood.

Was it supposed to be funny? Some sort of joke?  Was someone being cruel, tying Molly to the man she’d fancied (all right, _loved_ ) for the past four years? Or was someone trying to give a not-so-subtle hint that he and Molly should pair up?

No one knew about his feelings for Molly. He’d kept them well hidden for a little over two years. He was married to his work, it would be a distraction. Or that’s what he’d told himself every time he’d rejected her overtures or treated her horribly. Then the whole business of Moriarty and his faked suicide had come crashing down, and he couldn’t go back to treating Molly that way. Not when she meant so much to him.

Her former boyfriend hadn’t handled their friendship well. He wasn’t a bad man. Dull, but not bad. But after Sherlock had been back for five days, Tom had told Molly he didn’t want her spending all that time around Sherlock. She’d told him Sherlock was her friend, not to make her make a choice like that. Tom had (rather cliché) made reply that she already had, and she’d told him she reckoned it was over, then.

Could he have been the one to do this? Some sort of revenge? Sherlock dismissed the idea almost immediately. That man was many things (dull, unworthy of Molly, and did he mention dull) but he was a nice man. Tom might be hurting, but he’d never hurt Molly in such a manner.

Then who the blazes was responsible?

Refocusing his mind had helped with the other problem that had started. Which was fortunate, because at that moment Molly opened her eyes, blinked a few times, and looked at him with a frown. She started to move away from him, then realized that they’d been tied up together, and her frown turned into bewilderment.

“Sherlock?”

He sighed. “Yes, Molly, we’re a bit tied up at the moment. I’m still trying to figure out who did this, and why.”

Her eyes widened. “Did you just make a joke?”

“I must be experiencing aftereffects of being drugged,” he muttered.

“Can we-” Molly pressed closer to him to examine the bindings holding her hands around his neck, causing Sherlock to grit his teeth at the feeling of her snug against him again. Speaking of snug, his trousers suddenly felt a bit tight in a very unfortunate place. 

He cleared his throat. “Really, Molly, leave the deducing to me", he said hastily, not wanting her so close it him. Well, part of him did. But this was not the place or the time.

“Oh, stuff it, you,” Molly retorted, and he blinked in surprise. She’d been cheekier with him since his return; not stammering or getting flustered around him the way she used to. Part of him was relieved, but another part of him missed those obvious indications of her affection.

He frowned. Did that mean she no longer had those feelings for him? Had the incident with _Tom_ forever altered her emotions? His throat suddenly felt as tight as his groin.

Molly, unaware of his abrupt inner turmoil, peered more closely at the bindings. “Sherlock, these knots in the rope are tied with bowline knots,” Molly said, staring intently over his shoulder, her hair ticking the curve of his neck.

Sherlock fought the urge to squirm. “It’s a common knot. What about it?”

Molly’s lips pressed together. “It’s also the only knot John tied things with in the army. I remember him telling me that once.”

Sherlock frowned. “Are you saying you think John did this?”

“I also found a receipt on the lab floor last week for 10 meters of silk rope,” Molly said. “ I figured it was yours, for some experiment, but obviously it wasn’t. So, yes, I am.”

Sherlock stared, gobsmacked.  “But why? What on earth would possess him to do this?”

Molly squinted. “Maybe the note under your pillow will tell us.”

Sherlock’s brows scrunched together. “What note? I didn’t see a note.”

“Then you didn’t turn your head far enough,” Molly replied, nonplussed. She was now pressed so tightly against him he could feel every inch of her, it seemed, as she wriggled her hands to reach the neatly folded piece of paper. Goal accomplished, she unfolded it, holding it to the side of his head so she could read it. Sherlock, meanwhile, struggled to move as far back from her as he could without it seeing obvious. Molly looked at him oddly,  but began reading aloud.

_Sherlock and Molly,_

_I’m sure by now Sherlock has deduced that it was me (well, Mary helped) that put you two in your current predicament._

Molly snorted.

“What?” Sherlock demanded

“You didn’t deduce it. I did.”

“I hadn’t found all the clues yet,” he said indignantly.

“Didn’t seem to be looking too hard, if you ask me,” Molly said.

“I didn’t ask you,” Sherlock retorted.

Molly rolled her eyes and continued.

_We’re sure you’re wondering why we did this. Well, it’s simple. We’re both tired of the way Sherlock won’t own up to his feelings. So we decided to do something about it. So here’s what I, John, have to say to you, Sherlock._

_You’ve been in love with Molly for two years or so, I reckon. When you came back, you didn’t look at her the same way. And I’m no consulting detective, but I know what love looks like on a man._

_If you don’t tell her, you’ll lose her. You could’ve lost her with Tom, but you made sure he made her choose between you. I’d tell you how lucky you are she didn’t chuck you, but that would take too long. Mary and I have a plane to catch after the wedding._

_Speaking of Mary, she has something to say to Molly now:_

_Molly, I know you’re probably indignant and a little embarrassed right now.  I also know you probably had no idea how Sherlock feels about you. I’m sorry this is how you had to find out, but John and I are bloody sick of watching him dart his eyes over you when you’re not looking, and the way he moped about until you broke up with Tom. So we decided it was time to do something about it._

_I hope that you’ll not be too terribly angry and know that desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m turning this back over to John now so I can finish some last minute wedding things._

_Right. So as I’m sure you’ve figured out, you’re tied pretty snug. Mrs. Hudson is visiting her daughter for the next week, and Mary and I are by now on our honeymoon. Not that we’d let you loose just yet.  There’s no one to hear you call for help and you won’t be able to get to your mobiles. So for now, you’re stuck with each other. Don’t worry, though. Someone will come along to free you around 6 pm. By then, I hope you’ve sorted all this out so that we don’t have to lock you in a supply cupboard when we get back._

Love, _John and Mary_

Molly dropped the note and stared at Sherlock. “You’re in love with me?”

Sherlock hastily averted his eyes, tugging on the ropes again, twisting his hands, cursing John Watson and his excellent rope-tying skills.

“Sherlock. Look at me? Please?”

He raised his eyes to meet Molly’s, his expression like that of a deer about to bolt. Except that he could ‘t go anywhere.

“Is John right? Are you in love with me?”

He sighed.

“Sherlock.”

“Yes!” he snapped. “Yes, he’s right, yes, I’m in love with you and it bloody terrifies me! I don’t know anything about being in love, or relationships, and I do not know what to do about this and I hate not knowing what to do about anything! Are you happy now?”

Molly stared at him in shock for a long time before she found her voice.  “Yes, actually,” she told him with a giggle. Sherlock sighed again.

“I don’t know what to do, Molly,” he said plaintively. “I’m afraid that if we start down this path it could end terribly.”

“It could also be fantastic,” she told him. “Sherlock, you know there are no guarantees with anything in life. Well, that includes love. The question is, are you able to take a risk?”

He studied her; her sweet, earnest face, wide dark eyes. She believed he was capable of this; believed it as surely as she’d always believed he could do anything else he set his mind to. His eyes went involuntarily to her lips, zeroing in on how her lower lip was caught slightly between her teeth, and he felt a jolt of arousal that made every nerve stand on end.  And at that moment he knew.

“Yes,” he whispered huskily. “I do believe I am, Molly Hooper.”

Sherlock leaned his head forward slightly and replaced her teeth with his mouth, molding both his lips and his body to hers. His kiss was tentative, not like his brash displays of intellect and deduction. He seemed to be gauging the proper way to kiss her, and Molly was only too happy to oblige.

For what seemed like hours, they explored each other’s mouths; the kisses ranging from light and tender to hard and demanding. Her hands shifted on his neck so that she could sink her fingers into some of his ebony curls, and his hands slid up and down her back as much as possible with his wrists being bound. Molly nearly forgot that they were tied up together, that John and Mary were going to get an earful (and a thank you) when she got hold of them; nearly forgot everything, in fact, except that Sherlock loved her and they were going to be together.

“What time is it?” Molly panted during a break in their snogging.

Sherlock licked his lips and glanced at his bedside table. “Four-fifty-eight. An hour and two minutes until Lestrade comes to free us.”

“How do you know it will be Greg?” she asked, whimpering as his lips trailed along her jawline.

“Process of elimination. John and Mary would want to keep this discreet; it has to be someone they’ve told, someone we all trust. Lestrade is the best choice.”

“Mmm,” Molly moaned, taking Sherlock’s plump bottom lip in her mouth and sucking gently. He echoed her moan, pressing his hips (and an impressive erection) against her. “What are we going to do for an hour?” she asked, her voice warm and teasing.

“The same thing we’ve been doing for the past 27 minutes,” Sherlock replied, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone and enjoying the way she squirmed against him. “Snog. Once Lestrade gets here and frees us, if there is no case, I rather think we’ll be doing more than snogging.”

Molly pulled back and stared at him. “If there’s no case? Did you really just admit to loving me, decide to be with me, snog me silly for 27 minutes, and then say _if there’s no case_?”

Sherlock blinked. “Not good?” he asked hesitantly.

“I think I’ll tell Greg not to untie us,” Molly said. But she was smiling. “And if there is a case?”

“If there is a case,” Sherlock said; (Molly leaned up to lightly lick the shell of his ear, and his breathing changed immediately) “if there _is_ a case,” he panted, “you’ll help me in the lab until we solve it. And we’ll come back here as soon as it’s solved and take advantage of having 221B to ourselves for a week, as many times as possible. What do you think?”

“I think, Sherlock Holmes,” Molly said with a giggle, "that we’re going to be very _tied up_ this week.”  


End file.
